


Make Yourself Honey and the Flies Will Devour You

by heavenlyhost



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-27
Updated: 2012-04-27
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:40:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenlyhost/pseuds/heavenlyhost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alastair breaks free from the devil's trap and decides to put on a show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Yourself Honey and the Flies Will Devour You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [edlunds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/edlunds/gifts).



> Set during 'On the Head of a Pin' and full of possibly triggering material. Please read the warnings first.

Warriors of Heaven. That was what angels were supposed to be. _Soldiers_ sent by God to enact his will.

It was ironic then, that a demon would be able to capture him. The fight had hardly been fair, but it didn’t matter. Alastair had been able to overpower him long enough to force him under a sigil no demon should have known. Alastair was nothing if not clever, though, and Castiel sorely regretted underestimating him.

The _again_ went unspoken.

How the demon had managed to get out of the devil’s trap, Castiel didn’t know, but it wasn’t the most disconcerting thing about the situation. Being locked in the room with Alastair and unable to use his grace – that was far more troubling. Of course, they weren’t alone. Dean was there, was the whole reason he had entered the room in the first place, because Alastair had gotten free and Dean _dying_ wasn’t part of God’s plan.

 _This_ hadn’t been part of the plan, either.

“My, my, _my_.” _Your adversary the devil, as a roaring lion, walketh about, seeking whom he may devour_. Castiel wondered if the man who had written such verse had been in a similar position.

“We’ve got ourselves an _angel_ , Dean.” Alastair smiles wide like the Cheshire cat, his attention suddenly locked on the hunter pinned to the devil’s trap, held there by the demon’s power. There’s little Dean can do to suppress the shudder that runs through him.

Thin fingers, _claws sharp and biting, digging gouges into flesh_ , grab at Dean’s face, a knowing smirk on Alastair’s face. “Well, _you_ have an angel.” A thumb presses under his chin, pushing his head upward, though he does his best to resist. “But I just _know_ you’ll share.” Alastair lets go of his jaw, smirks and all but waltzes off toward the cart Dean had pushed in. The cart filled with any number of things he had planned to use to make Alastair sing.

 _Fuck_.

“Why don’t you go straight back to Hell, you sorry sonnuvabitch?”

Alastair’s running his hands over a few of the instruments, amusement and interest radiating from him. Dean knows he’s going to have a fucking field day with this, and he wants to curse. How the fuck could an angel be trapped by a demon? What the hell were they supposed to do _now_?

Dean knew Alastair, spent thirty years screaming and writhing and breaking, spent ten years learning and cutting and carving.  It makes him nervous, anxious, and a small part of him, the part ripping and clawing and _desperate_ to get out, to plead and beg and grovel at the feet of its master, is excited. Dean’s certain he’s going to shake apart, splinter and shatter into a thousand pieces, and then _all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put humpty back together again_.

“Oh, I would if I could, believe me, son.” He picks up a knife, twirls it in his hand to check that it’s really what he wants, and then walks straight for the angel. “But seeing as I can’t, I might as well enjoy all of God’s blessings.”

Dean feels a distinct tightening in his spine, his muscles clenching in anger, his fingers curling inward as he fights with the restraints and the desire to rip Alastair apart. He doesn’t want to see the sick fuck get his hands on Cas. Cas’s fall would be a whole lot longer than Dean’s, and Alastair? Alastair would enjoy every minute of destroying an angel, and he’d do it so thoroughly, so precisely… Dean couldn’t watch it.

“If the eyes are the windows to the soul, I must say, you two have some _very_ interesting feelings for each other.” The looks of surprise were enough to make the demon chuckle. Of course they would be too blind to see it. At least he prided himself on educating. If anyone could make them see, it was him, and Alastair would gladly show them the light, if only to rip it apart. As he leans forward, the angel lashes out, but with his grace stifled, the physical attack was no more dangerous than the average human’s, which meant Alastair had all the advantage, stopping the blow by catching the angel around the wrist.

Alastair was a little disappointed the bones weren’t light and hollow like a bird’s. As he squeezed, they ground together, though, just like any other human’s. It helped make up for the disappointment, if only a little. The small hiss was music to his ears. He might not be able to kill the angel, but he could, at the very least, hurt him. That sigil was a handy little thing.

“What a story that makes, an angel and a hunter knowing each other. In the Biblical sense, I mean.”

“You’re one delusional fuck.” And Dean’s bravado was _not_ something Alastair missed. Oh, he admired the fire, it made breaking him all the sweeter, but insolence wasn’t very polite, and Alastair had taught him manners already. He didn’t want to have to do it again.

Dean was the easier one to read, though. Alastair wasn’t all that sure what the angel was thinking. He looked a little startled, but there were any number of things for him to be surprised by. Alastair knew he was right, though. Could see that sick, dewy-eyed puppy love in them. It was weak, the soft underbelly that Alastair now had exposed, his to gut, his to reach into and yank and tear until there was nothing left.

“It’s been said.” Alastair shifted his grip, releasing Castiel’s wrist and sliding back out of his reach. It wasn’t his concern, though. They would suffer because they would watch each other suffer. Such a simple thing, and yet so effective. And then Alastair would send Dean back to Hell, where he belonged.

Dean twisted his head away when Alastair leaned forward, righteous in his anger now that he’d been free for a while. He was still pinned, though, and Alastair still leaned forward, got up close and personal so that he could speak right in the man’s ear with a low voice. “I think we should show him what you’re supposed to do when you want to make someone happy, and you want to make us both happy, don’t you, Dean?”

The smell of sulfur was overwhelming as his skin prickled in fear. Minute trembles ran through his body as the demon opened his jeans, slid cold fingers in under the material to grab-

“Stop!”

Alastair froze with his lips pressed against the hunter’s neck.

“Alastair.” There was a brief pause, as if Castiel was collecting himself, or perhaps simply waiting to see if Alastair would turn and look at him. “Whatever you would do to Dean, do to me instead.”

And it was then that Dean felt the demon’s lips stretch into a smile, wasn’t sure if he imagined razor sharp teeth against his flesh or not.

“Cas, don-” The demon’s power overwhelmed him, made the words stick in his throat before he could finish, before he could warn the angel to _not_. It wasn’t worth it, _he_ wasn’t worth it. Alastair had done worse. Dean had suffered worse. Cas was just an _angel_ , and the irony of that statement didn’t escape him.

Dean jerked as Alastair pulled away, a failed attempt to stop the demon from focusing on Cas.

Instead he was forced to watch as Alastair placed a hand on the angel’s shoulder, pushing and pressing until the angel was kneeling in front of the demon, a look of righteous fury on his face.

Dean could feel his face heat up with rage as the demon unzipped his pants, pulled himself out, fucking _hard_ , as if this was something to get his goddamn rocks off to. Then again, Alastair _was_ one sick fuck.

His hands tightened into fists, muscles bunching up in anger as the demon slid a hand into dark hair, curling fingers to dig them into the sensitive scalp like claws. Dean tried to move, tried to shout, but couldn’t, couldn’t do anything to stop the demon from pulling the angel forward. His vision blurred suddenly, angry tears in his eyes as the demon took his time violating the angel’s mouth.

The choked noises, the brief gasps, and Alastair’s complete and utter silence. It made him want to scream, to rewind everything he had done and turn _violent_ , because he had been precise. Had picked his tortures carefully to actually make Alastair talk, and now all Dean wanted was to spill blood. He wanted to beat the demon until there was nothing left but a bloodied pulp. Instead he was stuck shaking there on the devil’s trap, sick to his stomach with hate.

And then Alastair stopped moving. His hand kept the angel in place, kept him from moving or pulling away, kept the angel’s mouth wrapped around the length of him, his cock buried in the wet, convulsing throat. Alastair ignored the sudden appearance of hands, nails scratching at flesh.

White eyes locked with green, and suddenly Alastair was smiling.

“I’m going to do you a favor, angel.” Alastair didn’t release Castiel, but he did look down, smiling as though he was being praised for his altruism. The word angel came out fond, as though it were a term of endearment. It contrasted sharply with the sudden stinging pain of being pulled back, but Castiel was too grateful for the rush of air to do anything more than cough.

“I’m going to show you how you handle a boy like Dean.”

Dean fell from the devil’s trap so suddenly that it startled both him and Castiel. Before he could get his legs out from underneath him, he was being flung across the room, closer to where Alastair stood. He was too dazed to more than hang limply as the demon dragged him toward the cart that held the numerous items Dean had planned to use for torture. With a simple flick of the demon’s wrist, they all went flying off, the cart locking into place with another thought.

Panic flooded through Dean’s face and he suddenly kicked out, fighting more like an animal than a hunter. It made no difference, though. Alastair still pressed his upper body down into the cart, held him there with a hand on his head. “ _Stop_ …” It was breathless, flighty, and Alastair could hear, could almost _feel_ , the panicked flutters of Dean’s heart. He couldn’t help laughing at the boy, his façade gone so quickly in the face of something so _trivial_ , at least in comparison to all of the other things Alastair had done. It wasn’t as if this was _new_ , either.

“Alastair! You promised-”

The demon turned his head to stare at the angel, whose voice was rougher, deeper, and laughed again. “Oh, I did no such thing, angel.”

As he pulled away the fabric barring him access to that oh so intimate little place, the demon leaned forward, his chest pressing down against Dean’s back. “Don’t worry, son. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.” He felt the shudder of the body below him, watched the first tear fall, and thrust forward.

Alastair didn’t expect a scream, and Dean didn’t disappoint him. There was a short, sharp keen, followed only by small, hurt noises and punched out gasps, the little things Dean couldn’t keep in. For a long time there was nothing but the sounds of Dean’s pain, the slap of skin, and Alastair’s whispered praises, which made Dean feel dirtier than the demon’s physical violation ever could.

Castiel was helplessly silent.

It seemed to last forever, Castiel watching as horror, something so foreign to him before, ripped through him, made his grace burn and his unseen wings flare. For several moments he saw nothing, the phrase ‘seeing red’ suddenly so understandable. He was snapped from his blinding rage by the sound of a whimper.

Dean was shaking uncontrollably and Alastair had stilled, purposefully moaning into Dean’s ear, mostly out of show, as wet heat flooded his insides, made him suddenly want to carve into his own skin, claw the infection out. He barely noticed the demon pulling out in his sudden fit, barely noticed the sudden fight, but the fist that slammed into his face, the hand that curled around his throat brought him back to earth, brought him back to the _now_ , and Dean could do nothing.

Alastair was smiling up at him, having somehow managed to carry him back to the devil’s trap where he held him. “You’ve got a lot to learn, boy. So I’ll see you, back in class, bright and early, Monday morning.”

Dean saw Cas behind Alastair, cursed his delusional brain, and then saw nothing at all.

Castiel wasn’t sure how he managed to grab the knife, or how he managed to break the sigil in the first place, but in that moment he didn’t care. He shoved at the demon’s shoulder, waiting until Alastair had turned just enough, and then slammed the blade down into his chest, before he was suddenly shoved backward.

“Ohh, almost. Looks like God is on my side today.”

Hatred made Castiel lift his hand, use his grace to twist the blade. It didn’t last long before the demon pulled the knife out, but the brief satisfaction was worth it.

And then they were well and truly fighting.

He was pinned, a piece of metal lodged into his back, when Sam showed up. He watched with a look of astonishment as Sam used his powers to wrench information from the demon, and then use them to destroy Alastair.

Sam didn’t spare him much more than a glance before he was at Dean’s side, cursing in a shaky voice, hands fluttering nervously over his brother’s damaged body.

Castiel stood there like a statue, watching Sam fret and then finally call for an ambulance.

Everything around him froze.

It only took seconds to go through Sam’s mind, to change and warp the memories.

Castiel was careful with Dean’s own mind, carefully combing through and editing the memories, healing the damage that would not fit them. He fixed all of it, erased what had happened.

For whose sake, he wasn’t sure.

When Sam demanded a miracle later, demanded Dean be healed, Castiel was forced to resist the urge to tell him that he had already healed.

When Dean woke up, he didn’t remember anything other than Alastair breaking free and beating him.

Castiel decided then and there that he liked the sensation known as relief.


End file.
